


I Think I'm Better On My Own

by sugardumbfairy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Memory Loss, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Time Turner (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugardumbfairy/pseuds/sugardumbfairy
Summary: “You have received two great gifts. One in the form of a soulmate, and the second is in the form of this warning. Your mate might not have the same luck.”Neither of them believe in making stupid decisions, and neither believe in soulmates. Somehow, love happens anyway.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 47
Kudos: 149





	1. The Soul/The Warning (Part 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick notes: We do not support TERFS in this house, nor real life relationships with huge power differentials like those depicted in this fic. There is no sexual contact involving underage characters. This is not a particularly long fic in totality (about 30k words), but it definitely has more of a slow burn feel.

In Hermione’s third year at Hogwarts, she fell in love. It was not for the first time. She had fallen in love before, with books and their promise of both excitement and comfort, with the magical world that had opened to her, and with Harry and Ron, at least as much as one could fall in love with their friends. Even so, nothing could have prepared her for the love she would come to hold for her favorite class, Arithmancy. 

It was everything that Lavender and Padma and the rest seemed to love about Divination with the practicality, the scientific approach and _ empirical _ evidence that made it actually relevant. Watching the numbers fall in the correct order, rearranging until everything fit just  _ so  _ was immensely satisfying. Professor Vector was thrilled to teach a student so dedicated to the subject, and though she was stricter than even Professor McGonagall, she did encourage Hermione in her own way, assigning her additional reading and assignments, which, as far as Hermione was concerned, was the ultimate form of flattery. 

She dug in even more to favorite subject during her sixth year when Lavender and Ron were wrapped around each other like two tangled squids. Lavender continued to pour salt into the wound by holding seances in the girls’ dorm room, “kindly” including Hermione into their readings. Lavender and Pavarti read her star sign. 

“You know what they say about Virgos,” Lavender had snickered. 

Pavarti snatched up the sheet with a gasp. “There’s no love sign! Not that that’s much of a surprise, but-” 

“And look!” Lavender shrieked, pointing at Hermione’s hand. “No love line there either!” 

As Hermione stormed out of the room, blinking back tears, she reminded herself that Lavender was just staking her claim. Making sure that Hermione  _ knew  _ that Ron would never be hers. Well, that was stupid. Anyone with half a brain could see she didn’t feel that way about Ron. The only thing that she cared about was that snogging some bimbo had turned one of her best friends into a complete ninny. A ninny who clearly didn’t care that he had turned the girl’s dorm room into a hostile zone because he never bothered to explain anything to the creature he kept his mouth suctioned to. 

Arithmancy became the one place free of the drama, the stress about Harry, her grades, everything. It was all in the numbers, at least for anyone who bothered to look. It was her safe haven, and she escaped to it daily. More and more, her thoughts resembled the rigid, unchanging structures of the matrices and sequences she so often dealt with. Put so plainly, it did little justice to the experience of seeing the beauty of numbers translated into real life. Her fascination only continued to grow, at least until the middle of term in sixth year. 

They were assigned their most difficult project to date: align the numbers for their personal lives, filling in as much information as possible, from occupation to marital status, number of children, etc. Hermione took the assignment in stride with as much enthusiasm as she was accustomed to bringing in her work. So she could hardly be faulted for ending up having a breakdown in Professor Vector’s office a week before the assignment was due with pages of scribbled notes and not much else to show for the hours she had poured into the assignment. 

After calming Hermione down (as much as Vector was capable of, which amounted to her awkwardly placing a teacup in front of her), Vector looked over the notes, scanning each number and note carefully. Hermione watched her for any signs that would indicate what the issue was, but Professor Vector’s face remained impassive. 

“There’s nothing wrong with what you’ve written,” Vector said finally. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “But, professor, nothing is adding up. Anytime I add to the equation at all, it only becomes more unbalanced.” 

“There’s nothing  _ wrong _ here,” Vector repeated. “However, you have missed a major component.” 

Hermione stared down at the pages as Vector slid them back across the table to her. What could she have possibly missed? 

“The soul,” Vector said, as though Hermione had spoken her question out loud. “You’ve given no account for your soul.” 

“There is evidence of the existence of the soul,” Hermione said slowly, “but I’ve never heard that it was a measurable component for Arithmancy.” 

“It depends,” Vector said. “I think you might find for some, it will make all the difference.” 

Two days later, she was back in Vector’s office. “A soulmate,” Hermione said, pointing to the paper. “That’s the only explanation here. But that assumes,” Vector made no motion to interject, and Hermione was not about to stop her anxiety train unless absolutely forced, “several things. One, the existence of souls in the first place, which is debatable. Second, the existence of soulmates, which is an even more heavily debated topic than souls themselves. Third, that both of things are true and are applicable to  _ me _ .” 

Vector calmly passed her a teacup once more before sipping from her own. “I believe some things are understood through Arithmancy and that Arithmancy itself can help us understand things. Do you understand what I am saying, Hermione?” 

Hermione hated that question. More aptly, she hated the answer she had to give this time to that question. “No,” she admitted. 

“I once had a soulmate,” Professor Vector said. Hermione’s head shot up. She had not heard of any of the faculty having any sort of romantic relationship, let alone having a soulmate. But, she wondered, if this was true, where was Vector’s soulmate now? 

“It was the greatest heartbreak,” Professor Vector said. “Ill-fated from the start, but, oh did I love him.” She laughed, more to herself than Hermione. “You have received two great gifts. One in the form of a soulmate, and the second in the form of this warning.” She held up the paper. “Your mate might not have the same luck.” 

* * *

Teaching DADA wasn’t all that it cracked up to be. Years of inconsistent teaching and spotty lesson plans should have led to each class being woefully unprepared. To Severus’s great irritation, he did not find this to be the case. In fact, the strongest students seemed to be the Gryffindors in his NEWT level class, although they were all overly reliant on basic disarming charms. In addition to this injustice, Slughorn, the fool, was brimming with praise for Potter to the point that even Granger and Weasley looked annoyed. Potter, for his part, endured it all with the false sheepishness that Severus had come to expect from the son of James Potter. Even so, he sought out Potter’s weaknesses and metaphorically kicked the back of his knees in every class until he was forced to yield. 

The first months passed in a blur. When he was not in class, he endured the vague and borderline senile rambles Dumbledore was growing increasingly fond of, which were interspersed with information bombs that changed everything. Voldemort called on Severus often to give reports. This, he did without hesitation and with some relish, at least when Bella was a sullen witness to it. After years of teaching Potions, the change in curriculum offered something of a distraction, even if he could not take as much vicious delight in grading as he had hoped. New lessons, new essays, new mistakes. Potter was constantly in some trouble and Draco was hardly better this year. Every time that Severus attempted to talk to him, Draco shrugged him off without even feigning civility. 

In his spare moments, Severus indulged in some recreational reading. Recently, he had read that sailors who died during voyages were buried at sea in their hammocks. The image haunted him; it was impossible to not see the parallel. With each person that Severus tracked, with every lie that he told, he wove not only a story for those around him, but a coffin around himself. The only question that remained was when it would be his turn to be tossed into the waves. 


	2. The Duel/The Break

Hermione dreaded attending the Slug Club dinners. Each time, Slughorn made a point to emphasize that despite her blood status, she was indeed a very bright student. He did everything short of giving her a pat on the head before turning his attention to Harry, which she found particularly vexing. 

One evening, she was lost in her own thoughts at one of these dinner parties, when the conversation caught her attention. 

“-used to always have duels around this time of year. I imagine some of you might be skilled enough to get quite far in rank- Harry, for instance.” 

“Excuse me, professor,” Hermione said, putting her spoon down. “Are you saying that we will be having a dueling tournament at the school?” 

“Heavens, Granger, I forgot you were there. Yes, yes, I thought a dueling tournament for all of the NEWT-level students would be a good way to get some friendly competition going for Quidditch season.” Slughorn glanced over at his famed shrine of former students. 

Hermione, for her part, thought it was a stupid idea. Tensions in the school were already dangerously high and giving students another opportunity to lob curses at each other was just going to light the kindling. That being said, it  _ was _ an excellent opportunity to see how she stacked up against her peers. 

And so, a month later, she found herself waiting at the edge of the dueling platform with the other NEWT level students. There were nearly seventy students in total, but fortunately things seemed to be moving along quickly. Everyone who was a member of DA last year had won their duel so far, and she whispered a  _ thank you _ to Harry for drilling them again and again on defensive spells. 

Theodore Nott went flying down the narrow dueling mat and into one of the Great Hall’s many tapestries. No one bothered to send a cushioning spell to save him from the hard fall, though the observing students made a collective noise of sympathy when he hit the ground. Hermione scrunched her nose. If he couldn’t manage a basic cushioning charm himself, he didn’t much deserve the help, did he? 

She mentally tallied each win and loss. If they were being ranked using a simple elimination bracket, each student was only guaranteed a single opportunity to prove themselves. The winners of each round would duel each other, and so on, until one victory remained. In typical Dumbledore fashion, he called names for each round seemingly at whim, with no regard whether they were a sixth or seventh year or what their house was. 

Ron disarmed Terry Boot within the first few minutes. Harry was brilliant. His opponent did not have a chance to cast her first spell before a well placed  _ Expelliarmus _ yanked the wand from her grasp. 

As she watched everyone climb onto the platform for their turn, her anxiety began to mount. Finally, her name was called and she stepped onto the platform. When she heard “Vincent Crabbe,” she nearly walked off. Crabbe received a penalty ten seconds in for using a prohibited curse, and Hermione disarmed him shortly thereafter. It was a waste of a perfectly good  _ Stupefy.  _

“All this fuss,” Hermione whispered angrily to Harry and Ron, “and I got stuck with  _ Crabbe _ ! I might as well have been dueling a lump of coal!” 

“At least you got off easy,” Ron said, giving her a comforting pat on the shoulder. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and was about to tell Ron that, actually, she didn’t  _ need  _ to get off “easy,” thank you very much, when Dumbledore stepped forward. 

“Congratulations to our winners. I hope the rest of you stay to watch and cheer on your fellow classmates. Mr. Filch will be bringing popcorn around- although I must advise that anyone with a banana allergy stay clear of it. Now, the second round is about to commence, starting with  Padma Patil  and Draco Malfoy.” 

“Bloody Malfoy,” Harry muttered, watching him saunter up to the platform. “He cheated in the first round, didn’t you see?” 

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Their moment of solidarity was ruined when Lavender slid up beside Ron and gave his arm a squeeze. Hermione rolled her eyes and immediately tuned out whatever chatter was currently spilling out of Lavender’s mouth. Merlin knew she heard enough of it in their dorm room. 

Hermione was once again stuck with a terrible opponent: Justin Fitch-Finkley. How he had managed to eek through the first round was a miracle in and of itself. Ron and Harry were paired for the second round, and Harry once again managed to win with only  _ Expelliarmus _ . Ron was pretty good natured about the whole thing, although that might have had something to do with Lavender’s consultation kisses. 

At the end of the second round, only Hermione, Harry, Malfoy, and Katie Bell were left. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands. “And now we will continue on to our final round. Each of our four remaining students will be dueling one of the faculty. You’ve proven yourself to be the best of your class, but let us  _ all  _ remember how much more we have to learn,” Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling as he looked around the room at both students and faculty. 

Hermione gave a sharp inhale, glancing at her professors and desperately trying to recalibrate. She knew Harry’s technique like the back of her own hand, and likely could hold up to Draco or Katie, but this was something that she hadn’t prepared for. She resisted the urge to bite her nails, and instead settled for tapping anxiously against the wand in her pocket. 

The first duel came to an end when Draco tripped over Sprout’s vines and fell promptly on his face. His wand clattered on the floor, where it was calmly retrieved by Sprout with a summoning spell. His normally pale face was flushed an ugly red as the Herbology Professor gave him a hearty clap on the back and returned his wand to him. He shrugged off her hand and stormed off, followed by his Slytherin entourage. 

“Remarkable,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Professor Sprout, your kudzu is unparalleled.” His gaze flickered about before settling on Hermione just as she gave into the urge and bit her thumbnail. “Hermione Granger,” he said, sounding somewhere between amused and reproachful. “You’re up next.” 

Hermione assumed her place on the mat, heart already pounding. The faculty had formed a line on the opposite side of the Great Hall where their table normally stood, and she could see Professor McGonagall’s subtle look of encouragement. Dumbledore hadn’t named her opponent. Come to think of it, he hadn’t named Sprout either.  _ Did they decide ahead of time? Did they volunteer or- _

Without preamble, Professor Snape stepped forward. This far away, his pale skin seemed even starker against his all black ensemble and his face was immutable. He took his time joining her on the mat, as though already bored by the whole thing. His bow was overly formal and the combative stance he assumed afterwards was even more so. Only he could manage to mock someone so thoroughly without ever saying a word. Dumbledore began the countdown. 

“One.” 

Lips drawn together, Hermione quickly examined her options as she readied her own stance. Professor Snape was a fairly accomplished duelist, and he would not be above drawing it out for his entertainment, and her humiliation, if he could manage it. 

“Two.” 

Everything she knew about him fluttered through her head like the desperate chatter of birds, and she took another breath to calm herself. _ Don’t look him in the eye. _ She would have to take him completely off guard. 

“Three.” 

* * *

When Severus met Lily Evans at ten years old, he fell in love for the first time. It would be several decades before he realized that it would not be the only time. For years he considered it to be an act of fate, impossible to replicate. Lightning did not strike the same place twice. Meeting her was the first time that he ever wished to impress someone, wished that someone would take interest in him. He swore to himself that he would follow her anywhere. 

As it happened, he broke that promise again and again. It was broken every time that he chose the safety of the Slytherin pack over her company, his anger over her love and patience, his pride over  _ her _ . When she had cut him off and chose Potter (two separate actions that often felt one and the same), he did not see how he could possibly follow her any further. She did not want him, and he did not want a Potter. 

It was only after her death that he realized his mistake. He should have followed her in life. He would not make the same mistake now. So he took his sentence in stride, did his penance, stared into the face of a child who made him feel like he was being stripped apart from the inside. 

If it had taken Severus ten years to experience love, it took at least twice as long to forget it. And he  _ was  _ forgetting it, little by little. His memories wore thin with handling and age. His anger shredded it, his grief washed the color out. Little by little, loneliness crept in, so slowly that he barely noticed until there was nothing else left. 

Over the years, he moved strategically through his life. His mind whirred through each day, capturing every detail, but nothing made an impact from week to month to year. And then, in the fall of 1996, something broke through. 

* * *

By the time the final four made it to the last duel, they were cocky, overconfident in their abilities. What should have been obvious to _anyone_ is that it was not a fair duel. Not only did the faculty have experience and technical knowledge on their side, but also a keen awareness of their students’ strengths and weaknesses. It was meant to be a lesson in humility for the best and brightest. Of course, all of this would be lost on them while they tripped over themselves to hit Flitwick with a growth spell or himself with a tickling charm **.**

For this reason, Severus didn’t complain much about having to participate. Even seeing Draco leave in a disgrace provided some satisfaction. The boy had been insufferable lately. When Granger assumed her place on the mat, he had felt a subtle tap that meant that Dumbledore had marked him as her opponent. He had half hoped for Potter, though Dumbledore probably would not have considered it. 

He took his place. The countdown began, and he took a chance to observe his opponent. Granger’s dueling partners thus far had been pitiful, and she had always been a show off. She would use this opportunity for something flashy. Flashy, but still conventional. From his experience with her in DADA, she was no more creative in dueling than she was in potions. 

“Three.” 

Both of them cast a nonverbal spell. She was slightly slower than himself, less confident in her choices. The spells collided, sending up smokey purple sparks. She was clearly trying to avoid looking him in the eye, which was to her disadvantage. It would be more difficult for her to predict his next move. 

A second collision sent up a bigger flash of noise and sparks. And this time, she made the mistake of catching his eye across the platform. Her brown eyes were determined and steady, but her thoughts were racing, and a spell floated to the surface.  _ Expelliarmus.  _

Typical. Potter had trained his friends all that he knew, which was to say, only two measly defense spells. 

This time she was faster, surer of herself, and they cast their spells at the exact same moment. At the last second he realized that the light coming from her own wand was not from a defensive spell. He had time to feel both annoyed and amused by this, and then there was a creaking, ominous feeling building in him, telling him something was about to come crashing down. And then it did. 

With a  _ pop _ , he appeared in a great forest alongside Granger. Severus turned around, surveying their surroundings and cursed. “What did you  _ do,  _ Granger?” He whirled back around.

She was pale and shaky. “Sorry, professor,” she rasped. He barely caught her as she passed out. 


	3. The Realization/The Hand

Hermione realized something was different in the moment they cast the final spells, but it was much like seeing the edge of a high cliff only right before being pushed off it. Before she could even begin to hypothesize what this meant, there was a flash of gold light that was piercing, almost overwhelming, and her mind reached out for anything that could ground her. 

Ground. She felt the mossy ground beneath her feet and became aware of the damp chill that surrounded the forest around them. She recognized this place.There were black spots in her vision that she could not seem to blink away. 

“What did you  _ do _ , Granger?”

Hermione barely had time to utter a reflexive apology before she felt herself dropping. Her vision completely into blackness as she plummeted. 

* * *

Her knees hit the dueling mat, sending a wave of pain through her legs at the jolt. Her vision began to piece itself together much in the way that it faded out, fragments at a time. Vaguely, she could hear the buzz of comments, but all she could do was stare into the shaken face across the dueling mat.

Professor McGonagall rushed to help her up, carefully supporting her by the forearms as she stood, breaking Hermione’s view of him momentarily. Professor Snape, too, had fallen, but he was already standing, his outstretched arms quickly returned to his sides, fists tight. 

Professor McGonagall was speaking to her, pulling her along. “-might need to see Madam Pomfrey-” 

“-you okay?” Harry was there, speaking urgently, but barely audible over the pounding in her ears. “What happened?” 

She didn’t know. Hermione looked back across the room, but Professor Snape was gone. 

* * *

That evening, Hermione tried book after book in the library but found nothing that could begin to explain what happened.  _ No one _ had been able to explain what happened -not Professor McGonagall, Madam Pomphrey, or even Dumbledore, who came to check on her shortly before she was released from Madam Pomphrey’s care. 

Professor Snape had made himself scarce after the duel, making it likely that he too had no idea, although Harry thought that only made him more suspicious. His accusations were reminiscent of his paranoia with Malfoy, and Hermione found she had little patience for it today. She had _seen_ Snape’s face. He seemed as disconcerted as herself. She couldn’t blame him for locking himself in his office. 

The hours passed as she read through  _ 100 Duels of the Ages, Wands: From Core to Lore _ , a dozen pamphlets on magical theory, and, in an act of desperation,  _ Hogwarts, a History _ . Nothing. 

Her eye caught her arithmancy book, a page of her calculations sticking out of the side. Hermione considered it for a moment, and then shut her copy of HaH with a  _ thump _ , feeling rather silly. She picked up another book and continued on. 

At some point it had grown dark in the library. She was so used to working by candlelight, she did not notice until Madam Pince found her and scolded her for staying after the library was closed. Unfortunately, this was a semi-regular occurrence. 

Under Madam Pince’s watchful eye, Hermione set about stacking her large collection of books. She would  _ have  _ to work on the weightless extension charm. For the time being, she gathered them in her arms and got out of there as quickly as she could. In her haste, she walked straight into someone nearly right outside the library doors. A tall, thin someone, swathed in a black robe and an aura of chronic displeasure. 

“Late for a stampede?” Professor Snape scowled at her. 

“Sorry, Professor,” she said, trying to hold on to her precarious stack of books. One almost fell, and she grabbed it, only for him to deftly pluck it from her grasp before she could return it to the stack. 

Pale, slender fingers traced over the title. “Someone is branching out, I see. What _ are _ we doing past curfew, Miss Granger? Another midnight mission for Potter?” He flicked through the pages as though the answer would be there. 

“Actually, sir, I was looking for an explanation for our duel earlier today,” she said. 

“And what do you expect to find in this?” he shut the book with a snap. “For the record, dark magic wreaks far more havoc than you can even begin to imagine. Even if you survive, it tends to leave its mark. No, what happened today is just one of the many unpredictabilities that occur when magic is involved.” 

“But even those unpredictabilities must be accounted for at some time or another,” Hermione said. “Otherwise magical theory would not exist.” 

“As much as I would  _ love _ an invigorating debate, I simply don’t have the time, and I doubt you have the adroitness,” he said, seeming to relish her scowl. “Now, off with you. And fifty points from Gryffindor.” 

_ Of course.  _

“What was that, Granger?” He said sharply. 

She blinked at him, wondering if she’d accidentally voiced the thought out loud. “Nothing, sir.” She hurried off, doing her best to ignore his suspicious gaze all the while. 

* * *

Severus waited until he was treating Dumbledore’s hand to bring up the topic. “I thought you might like to know that Granger is sneaking around. I caught her leaving the library with _A Magick Moste Evile_.”

“Ah, I wondered when she would find that,” Dumbledore said conversationally, paying no attention to the balm on his skin that Severus was struggling in vain to apply. “Do keep an eye on her, Severus. Harry cannot afford any mistakes right now, especially those of his friends.” 

Severus scowled but continued his work. 

“It was an interesting display today,” Albus continued, idly fishing through his candy bowl of peppermints with his free hand. “Your duel with Miss Granger. Quite an unusual display of magic.” 

“I have no explanation for it,” Severus admitted bitterly, thinking again of the looming forest that only he and Granger had seen. 

“There rarely are for such things,” Dumbledore said mildly. “Ah!” His face lit up. “I do believe I found the last sherbert lemon.” He held it out to Severus, who refused it. Anything lemon flavored was abhorrent to him. Of course, Dumbledore well knew that. “I suppose I have no choice,” Albus said, unwrapping it with his good hand. 

Severus gave a long suffering sigh and returned his attention back to the hand in his own. But it was not the same hand. Smaller, almost dainty, with ink stains and warm to the touch. Definitely not a hand that was cursed, and definitely not a hand that belonged to Albus Dumbledore. 

He dropped it like a dead fish. Hermione Granger looked as shocked as he felt, sitting where Dumbledore had been only a moment ago. Her dark amber eyes were wide as she looked at him. She was curled up on the chair in casual Muggle clothes, her hair held in a loose bun by her wand. 

“Again?” She asked, looking around. “Did you do this?” 

“Of course not,” he snapped. “What are you doing here?” 

“I- I don’t know,” she said slowly. “This is like the forest, right? It’s not real?” 

There was a roar in his ears. 

“Severus?” Dumbledore prompted. “You seem quiet tonight.” 

“That will be all for tonight,” Severus said, lowering his wand. “Remember to use the salve I gave you. Let me know when it starts to spread again, and don’t go putting on any other cursed objects in the meantime.”

What the hell was happening to him? If this was some sort of prank, he would make Potter and co. wish that they were serving detention with Filch. 

“Very good,” Dumbeldore said, admiring Severus’s handiwork, although they both knew it was ultimately useless. He glanced from his hand to Severus, eyes devoid of their usual humor. 

“Get some rest. You seem like you’ve had a long day.” 

* * *

Hermione blinked, settling back into herself. Her heart felt like it was pounding in her throat. Dumbledore’s office and Professor Snape were gone. She was sitting cross legged on the bed, surrounded by her usual pile of books and papers. The room was uncharacteristically quiet. The other girls were all asleep, save Lavender, who was flicking through a magazine. 

This was more than a rogue spell. 

_ “You have received two great gifts. One in the form of a soulmate, and the second in the form of this warning.” _

_ Please, no. Not him.  _ The words repeated over and over in her head as she pulled out her arithmancy calculations with shaky hands. She began with numerology and quickly worked into more complex methods. The shaking in her hands grew worse as she forced herself to write faster. Then, she did it again. And again. 

“Lavender,” Hermione said quietly, not wanting to wake the others, “What do you know about soulmates?” 

Lavender had been half asleep, but at Hermione’s question, she perked up. “Oh, I know loads!” she said, flinging down her copy of Witch Weekly, as Hermione cringed the volume. Her eyes narrowed. “Why?” 

“It came up in a class discussion the other day,” Hermione lied. “We were debating whether they are real or not.” 

“Oh, they are, believe me,” Lavender said solemnly. “Trelawney said there’s just not much known about them, because having a soulmate is an indescribable experience.” 

“How do you know if someone is your soulmate? I mean, what is it supposed to feel like, having one?” 

“I just told you- it’s  _ indescribable,”  _ Lavender looked at her like she was stupid, and Hermione was regretting instigating this at all. “It happens when two people have a natural affinity for each other, like me and Ronnie,” she turned and blew a kiss towards the picture of Ron on her nightstand. Picture Ron wiped the fake kiss off, though he waited until Lavender’s back was turned. 

Numbly, she said goodnight and pulled the curtains around her bed shut. This put her whole future in jeopardy- no, not only that. This put _ Harry _ in jeopardy, and consequently everything else. If Voldemort found out- 

She shuddered. 

Voldemort couldn’t find out. She would have to talk to Professor Snape. The thought caused her stomach to twist itself into a knot, but it would have to be done. She could practically hear the ridiculing she was bound to receive. 

The thought caused another twist in her stomach. And this was who she supposedly shared an affinity with? If it weren’t for the odd events of the past day, she would never have even considered it. Would she even be able to have a relationship with someone? Or would she be destined to be alone forever? 

_ Harry comes first,  _ she reminded herself. 

She could worry about her lack of a love life later. 

* * *

By the time she approached the Gryffindor table for breakfast the next morning, she was exhausted from the sleepless night. She could not stop herself from glancing to the table Professor Snape sat at. While he certainly did not look jovial, neither did he look like his world had crashed down around him. He still did not know. Not even he could exhibit such a coolness in the face of finding out about his very unfortunate soulmate predicament. Hermione had spent hours agonizing over whether she should talk to him today, or wait to address it when it became relevant, and she still was not sure what to do. 

As she joined her friends, she paused for a moment to take in the utter  _ normalcy _ of everything. Ron’s mouth and plate were both overflowing and Hermione shot him a disapproving look. “Honestly, you act like you’ve been starved,” she scolded him. Harry was in a mood today, grimly chomping his way through slices of toast, staring forlornly in Ginny and Dean’s direction. She was possessed by a motherly urge to fix his unruly hair, but she settled for adjusting his collar so that it wasn’t folded over. 

Hermione felt eyes on her, and she glanced up. Her gaze locked with black eyes from across the room. Before she understood what was happening, she was in a memory. And then another one. Yesterday, at the duel. Last night, with her calculations. A month ago, when she spoke to Professor Vector. 

As suddenly as it happened, it ended. He dropped from her mind, not dissimilarly to the way her hand had dropped from his last night. His glance flicked away. His knuckles were white as he took a sip from his cup. 

Now he knew too. 


	4. The Agreement/The Damned

Severus stared unseeingly at his desk, hands steepled in front of him. He usually held office hours at this time, although it was more of a formality than anything. Students rarely sought for additional time in his company, and he rarely encouraged it. 

For the second time in as many days, he found himself in a state of total disorientation due to Hermione Granger. Any moment now, she was bound to knock on his office door. He felt a vein in his forehead pulse at the thought. 

How could this have happened? His suspicion prior to breakfast was that this whole thing with Granger had something to do with another one of Potter's harebrained schemes. If that had been the case, he would have relished in doling out the punishment. Severus had no idea what to do with this atrocity. 

He should just dismiss her out of hand when she did approach him, perhaps even cast a memory charm. The best solution would be to shut this down as quickly as possible. 

Almost as soon as the thought came, he remembered the years of her hand shooting up without any regard to his obvious annoyance, and her relentless commitment to amateur sleuthing and Potter's aforementioned schemes. He rubbed the spot on his forehead. No, short of wiping her mind entirely, it would eventually lead back to this moment. And who knew what sort of havoc she would cause in her quest for the truth in the interim. 

He wanted nothing more than to be able to chalk this up to a school girl's delusion- or even better, some random curse Draco had cast in a moment of infantile retaliation. But what he uncovered was not some perverse infatuation, but something much more bone chilling. She'd had no skill in Occlumency to conceal anything from him, and her mind had proved to be quick, vivid, and detail oriented to an obnoxious degree, making it easy to slip from one thought to another in a relatively organized manner. And what he uncovered was not one of Potter's schemes at all. It was him, surrounded by a swirl of runes, the memory of his hand on hers, Septima's words:  _ soulmate.  _

He grimaced at the word. Already, they were pulling each other into their mindscapes. Whether it would get better or worse remained to be seen. Anything related to soul magic was notoriously enigmatic. 

He already walked on a razor thin edge, and this was more than enough to push him over the side. Granger's thoughts had been quite noble for the most part, mostly concerned with the potential effects this would have on the fight against the Dark Lord, and how it put Potter, himself, and the rest of the Order in danger. Very Gryffindor of her. 

Severus would not pretend to be so selfless. This absolutely  _ fucked _ situation was the last thing he needed. Already, he was pulled in too many directions that required his constant attention in order to continue his sorry existence. Having a soulmate dangled in front of him, only to have it be  _ Hermione Granger, _ was a cruel taunt on top of it all. 

He had to maintain control of the situation. She could not go around interfering with things she did not understand. Despite the tsunami of frustration he felt, he would not take it out on her. He would show her the respect he withheld in the classroom in order to buy her cooperation, and if that failed, he could always threaten precious Potter's life. Indirectly, of course. 

He continued to sit there, head braced on his fingertips, until there was a knock on the door. 

* * *

Professor Snape invited her in without a word. Surprised that he hadn’t shut the door in her face, Hermione quickly moved to take a seat in front of his desk before he could change his mind. 

The large battered desk was clearly very old. The black paint was chipped in multiple places. Some brave, if highly disrespectful, students had etched words into the side. _Dementor - Beware. Bastard._ _Soulless Snape._ The graffiti lended itself well to the room’s sinister air, which is probably why he hadn’t removed it. 

He took a seat, and suddenly the desk seemed much smaller. The whole  _ room _ was suddenly much smaller. His expression was guarded but speculative as he appraised her. The mental invasion from the morning was still fresh in her mind, but she matched his gaze, taking the opportunity to observe him in turn. He was flat, cold, and dark in both his appearance and in his demeanor.  _ And he’s afraid.  _ The realization was sudden and not driven by anything she observed from his expression, but instead a steady sureness from the back of her mind. She blinked. Had they-?

“You will speak of this to no one,” he said finally. His voice was quiet, level.

“Of course,” Hermione said, nodding. “Professor, I was doing some reading. There’s very few records as I’m sure you know, but there is some evidence that a bond can be… weakened if let alone.” 

“And so we shall.” He paused. “I know you are prone to fits of curiosity and meddling, but this is not a time to do so. We speak of this to no one- _and yes_ , that includes the imbeciles you like to go gallivanting off with.” 

She pressed her lips together, and he raised an eyebrow as though waiting for her to rise to the bait. She didn’t give him the satisfaction. “And what about Dumbledore?” 

“He will know what is necessary,” he said.

Hermione waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. She had prepared for barbed remarks, proclamations of the absurdity of the situation, maybe outright denial, but not this _. _ Not this patronizing attempt at evasive civility.

“And I suppose you determine what is necessary?” She said, crossing her arms. 

Professor Snape crossed his own arms and leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” he said.“I suppose I do.” This return to his normal demeanor was almost a comfort, and she found herself pushing further. 

“Why?” 

“Because,” the word came out between gritted teeth, “For however clever and capable you happen to think you are, the school- and by extension myself- is the custodian of your welfare for your duration as a student here.”

“What about Vold-” 

“ _ Do not say his name _ !” Professor Snape’s words were a quick hiss, color rising in his pale face as he all but lunged across the desk. “ _ Leave it alone.  _ All of it.” 

Her heart thudded in her chest. Soulmate or not, he was terrifying. A suspected Death Eater by some, and notoriously bad tempered man by all. Decades her senior, and, as he’d just reminded her, still responsible for her education and presumably her general safety, if clearly not her emotional well being. 

The flush in his face left as quickly as it came, and he sunk back into his seat. In a more controlled tone, he continued. “I realize this is no more wanted by you than myself. I will work to find a way to block out as much of the bond as possible, and in the meantime … be assured that our interactions will remain what they have been.” 

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wondered if he sensed her feelings, as she had sensed his only moments ago. They sat in silence, both of them for once at a loss for what to say. 

_ Salazar save me.  _ The words floated through her mind unbidden, and with them her suspicions were confirmed. There was more to this bond than first appeared.


	5. The Christmas Party/ The Mistletoe

In practice, little changed over the next month. Their classroom interactions remained the same. Granger continued to spout off facts as though in a trivia competition, and Severus continued to cross large X’s through the extraneous paragraphs of her essays. In fact, the moments in her presence were the few where he could pretend everything was normal. 

It was at odd intervals that it hit him. One morning he might be shaving his face when suddenly he was struck with a wave of anxiety about his upcoming Charms test. Or, he might go to take a bite of his favorite dessert only to discover that Granger found it positively “ _ repulsive.”  _ Of course, there had been the one unforgettable and unmentionable day when he had caught on to a much more intimate feeling in the middle of lecturing his first years. 

His first reaction was  _ surely not _ . He was not getting warm under the collar in the middle of a lecture on flobberworms. His second reaction was nominally different from his first, marked only by the shock of the realization that the feeling was not coming from him at all. Severus only hoped that she hadn’t experienced anything similar from him. 

In truth, the worst part of all was at night. The rare moments that he found himself drifting off to sleep, one of his last conscious thoughts were of her. His absolutely  _ last  _ thought before unconsciousness was how stupid he was for thinking of her at all. 

* * *

McClaggen put Won-Won and Lav-Lav’s antics to shame. Hermione could scarcely move without an arm wrapping around her waist, a hand sneaking down to pinch her bum, or thick fingers pushing back her curls so he could wetly whisper something in her ear. Probably something else about Quidditch. 

They had been at Slughorn’s Christmas party for only thirty minutes, but after the nonstop groping and stories about Cormac’s greatest saves, it felt as though she had been there for an eternity. 

“What do you think?” Cormac said, his breath uncomfortably warm and damp against the side of her face. 

“Mhmm,” she murmured non committedly, looking around the crowded room for Harry. 

“Really?” Cormac said, brightening. He threw an arm around her shoulder. “Merlin, Granger, I didn’t think you’d ever said yes.” How was he somehow even closer? 

Hermione slipped off at the next opportunity, fearful of what she might have agreed to. The plan to bring Cormac was a mistake, designed to annoy Ron and to forget about the soulmate situation (which is how she frequently referred to it in her head.) 

She had learned more about Professor Snape in the past month than she had in the previous five years, which proved to be both disconcerting and fascinating. He was a depressed insomniac with a dependency on caffeine and mint humbugs and pacing. He read poetry that came to her in fragments when she woke up in the morning. A warm flush filled her chest at random times, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it occurred when he received a compliment. The fear that she’d sensed the first day was ever present. 

What had begun as an uncontrollable awareness of him was quickly becoming one of her favorite pastimes. During the moments she did not sense anything from him, she often thought about what he could be doing at that moment. When she did sense something, it was mentally catalogued and examined at every angle for days afterward. Each DADA lesson snapped her back to reality, and she would sit through class feeling embarrassed that she had essentially been daydreaming about  _ Professor Snape _ for weeks. 

So, Cormac McClaggen had seemed like a good idea at the time. Something to take her mind off of soulmates and Voldemort and school and everything else that took up a large amount of her thoughts on a daily basis. All she had to show for her efforts were a few hickeys and a nearly pathological fear of tall blondes. 

Harry called her name, but her relief to see him evaporated somewhat when it was clear that he, too, seemed to only have Quidditch on the brain. Hermione had already seen the error of her ways, and she didn’t really need his take on it, thank you very much. She was telling Harry just this when she caught sight of Cormac’s broad form heading in their direction and quickly whirled off in the opposite direction. 

In her haste, she nearly ran into Snape, who was looking particularly unfestive surrounded by the Christmas fanfare. She felt heat rise into her cheeks. His gaze flickered over her for a moment, taking in her flustered and probably somewhat disheveled appearance, and the burning in her cheeks intensified. 

“Miss Granger. Leaving already?” His expression lay somewhere between bored and annoyed.

“Yes, sir,” Hermione said, attempting to straighten her robe in a belated attempt to salvage her pride. “I hope you enjoy the party.” 

“I have a rather large stack of lower year essays to grade over the holiday,” he continued, not bothering to acknowledge her response. “If you were planning on staying here over the holiday, I could use the assistance.” 

Hermione was planning just that. She had told Harry that she would be joining her parents on a skiing trip, but truthfully she just needed some time to get ahead on schoolwork. But Professor Snape probably knew that already. 

“Of course!” Hermione said. “I’d be happy to.” 

He gave a curt nod and looked as though he might say more when Slughorn forcibly plucked him from his spot and deposited him into a conversation with Trelawney and Harry, much to his and Harry’s obvious disgust. Harry gave her a pleading look, but the threat of Cormac remained high, so she took her escape. 

* * *

A few days later, when Snape informed her that she was not truly there to grade essays, Hermione was unable to hide her disappointment. 

Snape, for his part, did not even bother to try to hide his exasperation. “I’m sure I can find some class for you to terrorize, Granger, but that is not why you are here. It is, however, _exactly_ what you will say should anyone ask you why you are coming by my office.” 

“Then, sir, why did you ask me here?” Hermione asked. 

“Over the past month, I have encountered thoughts and feelings in my mind that are not mine. I need to ask: have you experienced this as well?” 

When Hermione confirmed she indeed had been having a similar experience, he continued to ask questions. How often?  _ When _ had she become aware of this? What had she learned? Had she shared this information with others? On and on. Snape seemed to grow more agitated with each answer she gave. 

“And do you sense anything now?” 

Hermione hesitated. He was so careful with guarding his mind, but he could not hide himself from her. Even with the layers of guilt and self hatred and frustration and irritation and so many awful, nasty emotions, the one that rang truest was a longing. But she could not say that. 

“Lying is not an option,” He warned. 

“There are some things that I have a near constant awareness of,” she said cautiously. 

“Such as?”

When she did not immediately respond, he pointedly tapped his fingers on the desk in a steady drum. 

“Your fear,” Hermione blurted out. 

His eyes bore into her own, and he gave her a long look before saying, “Fear is what keeps us alive, Granger. Only by looking before leaping will you see the path. If I told you that I held an image in my mind right now, could you tell me what it is?”

Hermione paused, unsure. There was a prickling feeling, a memory of a sharp woodsy scent and-

“Mistletoe?” She asked. 

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “The druids used it to signify a meeting place where-” 

“No violence could take place,” she finished. 

Snape frowned and then continued, “It seems we’ve found ourselves in a precarious situation.” His tone was scornful, and his hands rose in a customary steeple in front of him.“It’s clear that Occlumency does not shield my mind from yours to the degree I’d hoped,” he said. “And in addition to the … spillover that we have already experienced, it seems likely we will have more in our future.” His gaze on her was sharp. “This is treacherous ground, Granger. You understand something must be done?” 

Somehow, the increased urgency about the situation left her feeling calmer than his controlled speech a month prior. Something  _ needed _ to be done, and now something was going to be. 

“I do,” Hermione said, nodding. 

“Unfortunately, no spell can separate two joined souls,” Snape said, his voice sour on the last three words. “The next best option we have is a memory charm, which will provide us some temporary sanity, and hopefully diminish the awareness of the other.”

Her stomach twisted at the thought.  _ Focus _ , she scolded herself.  _ What happens next could affect everything.  _

“Won’t that leave noticeable gaps in our memories?”

“Removing all the memories related to this is unrealistic,” he agreed. “I will only be removing what is most necessary.” 

“Will Dumbledore be casting it?” Hermione asked. “I suppose it doesn’t make much sense for us to attempt it on ourselves or each other.” 

“As much as I applaud the forethought, there won’t be a need for that,” he said. 

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Hermione shot up, anger flooding through her body. “You want to only remove my memories!” 

“It’s only logical. You are the only one able to break through my Occlumency barriers, and you are the one most susceptible to mental attacks.  _ You _ are the weak spot, the crack in the dam.” His voice was infuriatingly calm. 

No,” she said, trembling. “I won’t do it.” Their previous conversation flashed through her mind.  _ And I suppose you determine what is necessary? Yes, I suppose I do.  _

“I will only be taking what is mine,” Snape said. 

But he wouldn’t. Because her memories were  _ hers _ , regardless of what they contained. And he planned to keep the parts of herself that she had unwittingly shared. 

“Things are far more complicated than you realize, Granger,” he continued. “And it’s not a request.” 

A memory floated through her mind, a reminiscent frustration of trying to reason with another self-involved, arrogant time bomb- 

“What happened?” Hermione asked suddenly. “Something’s happened, something has convinced you that this is the only way-”

Snape stood up suddenly, chair scraping against the floor. 

“Save the theatrics, Granger. We will finish this later,” he said, grabbing his cloak and pulling her out of the office. 

She felt the call then, the faint pull. She had always assumed that it would be strong, almost painful. This was barely a whisper, and yet he had responded immediately. 

“Will you be okay?” Hermione asked as he strode off. 

He didn’t respond. 

* * *

The Dark Lord rarely summoned Severus. When he did, Severus envisioned every instance that might have tipped Voldemort off, every blunder, every possible betrayal. But by the time he was seated beside Voldemort, drink in hand, his mind was free of all of this. 

Voldemort was laughing at the entertainment: a hapless Squib who was currently trying to outrun the curses the Death Eaters hurled at him. A rat trying to escape its maze. 

“Sseveruss.” 

He turned towards the snakelike face that was peering at him curiously. 

“You don’t seem entertained. Are you not enjoying yourself?” 

“It reminds me of being in the classroom,” Severus said, taking a sip from his drink, which was horridly sweet. “Little monsters hurling spells every which way while some dimwit runs about the room.” 

Voldemort laughed, a grating sound. At first, Severus thought that was the end of it, but then he felt the gaze return to him. 

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Voldemort continued conversationally. “You should be jumping for joy. Soon Potter will be dead and you’ll be free of the ‘little monsters.’” 

“There are no words for how much I dream about that day,” Severus said dryly. 

“And yet I find myself wondering if that is true,” Voldemort said. Nagini was wrapped around his chair, and she stared hungrily at Severus. 

“My lord, I-” 

“If the entertainment is not to your liking, perhaps you would rather take his place,” Voldemort said coldly. 

“I’m quite comfortable, my lord,” Severus said quietly, staring down at his drink. 

“Maybe you’ve gotten a little _ too _ comfortable, Severuss. Maybe forgotten who you truly serve.” Voldemort’s wand was out now, fully visible and comfortably clutched in the scaly hand. 

“I will never forget,” Severus said, turning to look directly into the red eyes. His dedication lay bare in his mind for the Dark Lord to see. 

Voldemort petted Nagini, and in an amused tone said, “Of course, Severuss. You always were quick to pledge your loyalty. Kneel.” 

Severus did so, head bowed and gaze lowered. From behind him, he could hear the cheers of the Death Eaters and the hysterical pleading from their victim. 

“Even the most loyal,” Voldemort was saying, “Must be reminded every now and again. Crucio!” 

His mind was Occluded, but his body had no such protection. White fire burst through him, ravaging everything in its path, singeing his veins from his heart to his fingertips. He burned from the inside out and reality flipped upside down, inverted itself, and then disappeared altogether. It stopped all at once, and Severus realized he had fallen from his knee to the floor, his ankle twisted under him. His ears rang in the silence, the only noise in the room were his rapid breaths. 

“Please, my lord,” he gasped. “I am loyal-” 

“Of course,” Voldemort said. “Which is why you may have the honor of relieving us of our guest.” 

Severus slowly stood. 

* * *

The halls of Hogwarts were quiet with only the occasional ghost floating by Severus as he limped towards his room. The only good to come out of the evening was that the Squib had died of his injuries before Severus got to him, although  _ good _ was relative in this case. The progress through the halls was slow going, and Severus only just made it through the door of his room before collapsing. 

The exhaustion from the Cruciatus curse was settling in deep. Breathing hurt. His bloody ankle hurt. _I_ _don’t want to do this anymore._ He closed his eyes. 

He awoke to a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing here?” His voice was hoarse. 

“You were in pain,” Granger whispered. “The wards let me through.”

“Get out,” he said. Granger ignored him, and instead helped him over to the old sofa by the fireplace. She ran a diagnostic charm. “Stupid girl,” he muttered, still barely conscious, and then winced as she took a little much pleasure in snapping his rib back into place with a flick of her wand. 

Breathing was suddenly much easier, and with his instruction, she grabbed a healing draught from his table and gave it to him. As she continued to work, he was finally able to open his eyes fully. He watched as she ran a second diagnostic spell, lips pressed together in a worried line. When Granger finished, she glanced at him and seemed startled to find his gaze on her. 

Her brown eyes were wide and doe like, and his chest spasmed at the thought. 

“Take the bed.” His voice was still hoarse. “You shouldn’t be walking alone through the halls this late.”

She only nodded, still looking upset. Her feelings of concern pushed against him persistently, wave after wave. His body was begging for rest, but he waited until she quietly moved towards the canopy bed in the far corner of the room before he finally gave himself over to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Hope you are all well


End file.
